Burn After Reading
by Swing Girl At Heart
Summary: SEQUEL TO ONE IN FOUR. When Kurt abruptly reappears after nearly ten years, his life and the lives of his family are rocked to the foundations. What follows is a struggle for hope, love, and - most importantly - healing.
1. On A Clear Day

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to my fic _One In Four_, and though _One In Four_ is easily a stand-alone story, this fic cannot be understood without having read _One In Four_. For those of you who have read _One In Four_, thank you so much! As you are most likely aware if you followed _One In Four _while it was being written, there will be several dark themes dealt with in this story, so this is a trigger warning for that as this fic will be revisiting many of the traumas of Kurt's past.**

_..  
><em>

_On A Clear Day_

_.._

The first thing Kurt could feel was oxygen slowly passing through his lungs, sitting heavily in his chest like water, and the nerve endings in his fingertips gradually began to prickle. He felt like he'd been asleep for days, and he didn't want to wake up just yet because he was so comfortable where he was… He was sitting up with his head tilted back against a cushion, so he had to be on a couch. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he could see faint light shining through the lids. He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes with his still-half-numb fingers, yawning.

He let out a long breath, then realized with a start that there was something heavy sitting on his lap. He forced his eyes to snap open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light, and he raised his head.

His heart skipped. The something was actually a some_one_ – a very young boy, sitting comfortably on his lap and staring at the TV against the wall, which was playing _Tom & Jerry_ with the volume turned all the way down.

There was a child sitting on his lap.

An _unfamiliar_ child.

Oh, God.

Kurt's heart skipped in his chest like it was jumping hurdles, and as soon as the realization that one of his alters must have kidnapped some poor kid off the street hit him, he jolted to his feet. Unfortunately, he wasn't thinking very clearly and he accidentally knocked the little boy to the ground, who then immediately began to loudly bawl. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do. How was he supposed to treat his own kidnapping victim?

Just then, a man burst in from the doorway to Kurt's left and rushed over to scoop the boy into his arms. "What the hell, Andy?" he snapped, rubbing the child's back and checking over his limbs for bruises. "How do you drop a three-year-old?"

Kurt stared at him, every cell in his body screaming that something is _deeply, deeply wrong_.

It was Finn.

Except, it couldn't be, because the Finn that Kurt knew didn't have the stubble on his cheeks, or the barely-noticeable lines etched into his brow and the skin around his eyes.

"You okay, bud?" Finn said, hefting the little boy on his hip.

The boy sniffed and wrapped his arms around Finn's neck, and Kurt wanted to vomit, although he didn't know why.

Finn finally turned his attention back to him. "Dude, why are you staring at me like that?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but it didn't feel like his tongue was working the way it should. "I— I—" he stammered. "Wh-what's going on?"

Finn frowned, his hands tightening protectively around the child in his arms like he was subconsciously backing away. Like he was unsure of what Kurt would do. "You all right, man?" he asked, almost suspiciously.

"Why is there a kid here?" Kurt demanded, growing more and more desperate by the second. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and his lungs were rapidly shrinking behind his ribs.

Finn looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"_Just tell me what's going on!_" Kurt cried, the words snapping out of his mouth like breaking bones.

Finn flinched, and something else crossed his face, a strange sort of shadow that Kurt couldn't figure out. "Hannah!" Finn abruptly shouted, making Kurt jump. Finn turned back towards the door. "Hannah, get down here!"

There was a cascade of footfalls that tumble down from upstairs, and a redheaded woman appeared behind Finn. "What's wrong?"

Finn unwound the boy's arms from his neck and handed him over. "Take Dylan upstairs," he said, and there was an urgent tone in his voice that set the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck upright.

"What's—"

"Just give us a minute."

The woman looked over to Kurt with wide eyes, as if she knew what Finn was about to do, then closed her mouth and carried the little boy out of the room.

Finn turned his attention back to Kurt. "What do you remember?" he asked, his voice hard. His face was unreadable, and that was terrifying.

Kurt swallowed, his mouth dry and his throat feeling coated with sand. "Uh…" he said, the syllable trembling in its uncertainty. "I-I think…" He trailed off, his heart knocking against his ribs as he tried to sort through the fog clouding the back of his head. Blurred, fragmented and hazy memories cascaded across his mind, but none of them were recent enough. He shook his head, feeling like there were snakes twisting and turning in his gut. "I-I don't know."

Finn let out a long breath, his head hanging for a moment. He twisted a ring around his finger. (Why was he wearing a ring?)

Kurt wanted to scream, and he didn't know why. A rock pressed against the walls of his throat as he asked, "Finn, what… what's the date?"

"It's January third," Finn said quietly, not quite meeting Kurt's eye.

January. He'd just missed New Year's.

Kurt swallowed around the rock in his throat, wincing. He was pretty sure he remembered it being July last. Or maybe August. _God_, had he been gone nearly five months?

Kurt's brain was so frantically trying to sort out where he was in time that he jumped when Finn suddenly reached forward and engulfed him in a hug, holding so tightly that Kurt could barely breathe. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do.

And that's when he saw it over Finn's shoulder, hung on the far wall of the living room. A family-made calendar with a photograph of Finn, the redheaded woman, and the little boy – all smiling for the camera as they stood in the shallow end of a swimming pool. The little boy was wearing floaties on his arms and riding on Finn's back, and below the photo was a banner reading _HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE MACKEY-HUDSON FAMILY!_

And below that, the year.

Kurt stopped breathing, his skin running cold so quickly that he felt like he'd been electrocuted. "That – that's not real," he shook his head, yanking himself out of Finn's hold. "Finn, tell me that's not real."

"…Kurt," Finn said. Why did Kurt's name sound so heavy, like Finn hadn't said it in ages?

"Finn, please—"

Finn's face was pinched, like he was trying so hard to speak but had no idea what to say. "It's okay," he forced out, and it sounded like the biggest lie Kurt had ever heard.

* * *

><p>Burt shivered in the driver's seat of his truck, blowing into his hands to warm them up as he waited for Carole to come out of the hospital. He kept meaning to get the heater fixed, but that particular chore regularly found itself amidst the thousand minor tasks that always ended up on his to-do lists but never <em>quite<em> got done. Running the tire shop was a full-time job and required an irritating amount of micromanaging, but one of the benefits of being the boss was that he could take off early to go pick up his wife from work.

The hospital's automatic doors slid open and Carole, bundled up in her winter pea coat, blue scarf and green gloves, strode toward him. She opened the door and slung her shoulder bag onto the floor by her feet as she sat in the passenger seat.

"Hi, sweetie," Burt said, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the mouth. "How was your shift?"

"Well, I had to remove about six dollars in loose change from a kid's stomach today, which was fun," she replied brightly as he pulled the truck away from the hospital entrance.

"Sounds expensive."

Carole chuckled. "Ray doesn't mind you taking time off to pick me up?"

"He doesn't if he wants his paycheck," Burt grinned. "Besides, we've got a date tonight, and you're going to spend a ridiculous amount of time deciding what top to wear even though you _know_ you look hot in every one of them, so I'm getting you home early."

Carole reached over and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Well, at least Andy said he'd be fine making dinner for everyone else. He's got something good planned, I'm sure."

"You sure you want to go on our date tonight, Car?" Burt had to ask. "I mean, you're always saying we don't see the kids enough."

"Finn and Hannah don't have to get back to work for another week, Burt," Carole said. "We have plenty of time. Unless, of course, this is a thinly veiled way of asking me if we can postpone because _you_ want to stay home and play with your grandson."

Burt feigned a look of shock. "_What_— That is a serious accusation! I'd never pick a night of watching Sesame Street over you!"

Carole giggled. "Come on, watch the road," she said. "I promise I won't take too long to get dressed."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," Burt countered. He turned the truck off the main road, driving down their snowy street. The plows had been through early that morning, but snowflakes were just beginning to come down again in time for sunset, dotting the pavement ahead.

He parked in front of the house, not bothering to pull into the driveway since he and Carole would be leaving again for dinner soon. They climbed out of the truck, Burt swinging his keys in a circle around his index finger as they walked up the little stone path to the house. Burt made a mental note to thank Finn for shoveling it.

Inside, Burt hung his coat on the rack by the door and stepped into the kitchen, where he found Finn, Kurt, and Hannah all at the counter island. "Hey, guys," he said, reaching for the fridge to grab a beer.

"Where's Dylan?" asked Carole, unwinding her scarf from her neck.

"I put him down for his nap," answered Hannah.

Burt glanced at the clock, reaching into the fridge for a cold beer. "Kinda late for a nap, isn't it?"

"Burt," Finn said, and for the first time Burt noticed the expression on his face. The muscles in Finn's forehead and cheeks were tight, as if the pressure in the room was making it difficult to breathe. Burt glanced at Hannah in confusion; she was worrying at her lower lip and looking just as nervous. He placed his beer on the counter.

"What's going on?" Carole asked.

Finn looked to Kurt.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Burt's heart stopped. It was the first time Kurt had called him that in ten years.

If he had still been holding his beer, Burt would have dropped it.

"You…" Burt started, but his voice faltered. His mouth had gone dry. "Y-You're back?"

There was a glassy film over Kurt's eyes, something so familiar and so unbelievably strange all at once. Burt's lungs felt starved for oxygen – he managed to drag a heavy breath into his throat, the air burning his insides.

"I-I think so," replied Kurt. It was _his _voice. Not Andy's. Not Eleanor's or Robbie's or Tyler's. _Kurt's_.

Burt's sinuses were abruptly tight, as if he was trying to breathe underwater. "Nine years, eight months," he choked out. "Nine years and eight _months_. You've been gone. You – you _disappeared_. You just didn't come back." The words were escaping him faster than Burt could think them through, and his blood was boiling from his sternum all the way to his fingertips. "You just – just stopped coming back."

Kurt's face contorted in something akin to grief. His eyes were threatening to spill over. "Dad, I—"

"Why didn't you come back?!"

Kurt lurched off his stool, crossing the short distance between them and wrapping his arms around Burt's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so _sorry_," Kurt was repeating over and over again, and Burt could feel Kurt's entire frame shaking (or was it his own?).

But Kurt was _back_. He was _here_ and he was looking Burt in the eye and talking to him like a _son_.

The air rushed from Burt's lungs, and he did the only thing that made sense – he hugged Kurt back and held him as tightly as he could. His son was finally _home_, and any questions as to what that could mean or what it entailed could wait for all Burt cared.

* * *

><p>None of this made any sense to Finn. For nearly the last decade, his family had somehow maintained a semblance of stability without completely falling apart. The years prior to Andy's appearance had been fraught with stress and fear and especially uncertainty. Even during the months when Kurt had seemed to be doing better and making progress in therapy, they still had never known when the alters would show up again. Kurt's illness had always been lurking just out of sight, following him everywhere like some kind of malevolent shadow. And then, as Andy gradually took over, the shadow was slowly pushed away and locked up tight where it didn't feel like it was constantly about to pounce. They had adjusted. They adapted for Kurt, like they always had, and they had gotten used to a certain amount of peace – the kind of peace they had never felt safe enough to trust before.<p>

Finn wasn't sure what had prompted Kurt to spontaneously come back after so long, but he was mostly worried about what it could mean for the rest of them. Whether his priorities made him a bad person or not, he couldn't tell, but now he had a wife and a child to take care of before Kurt. Finn remembered all too well the days when his home felt like hell, with Kurt caught in the throes of a transition and Burt unable to do anything to help. Even through the days when Kurt was himself, the anxiety of the entire situation had weighed on them all, and Finn knew just how destructive that anxiety could be.

Carole had called the restaurant to cancel the reservation for her and Burt's date, and they had all stayed up late in the kitchen, the five of them crowded around the kitchen island. Coffee and tea had been brewed, and brewed again. Hannah made grilled cheeses, which Finn only picked at. For hours, the conversation mostly consisted of Burt asking repetitive questions about what Kurt could remember, although Finn honestly had no idea where Burt expected to get with that line of questioning. Hannah eventually yawned and went to bed, giving Finn a quick kiss and telling him not to stay up too late.

Finn didn't miss the look on Kurt's face when he saw the kiss, and he shifted his weight awkwardly to his other foot.

"I can't believe you're married," Kurt said, his tone somewhere between sadness and awe.

"You were at the wedding," said Burt gently.

"Really?" Kurt seemed genuinely surprised.

"You were my best man," Finn added.

Kurt chewed on his lip, swallowing. "I wasn't… I don't know, I didn't freak anyone out?"

Burt leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced on top of the counter island. "Kurt, you haven't had any serious transitions in years."

Kurt's eyes widened, and his gaze jumped back to Finn, looking for some kind of confirmation that Burt was telling the truth.

Finn nodded, leaning back against the counter by the sink. "You haven't really been switching a lot since I was in college."

"Y-You're kidding," Kurt stammered.

"Kurt, the last time you transitioned was in March," Carole said, warming her hands around her mug of tea. "And before that… I don't even remember. August, I think?"

"June," Burt corrected.

Finn let out a heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. "Actually…" he started, feeling slightly guilty for even opening his mouth when Burt frowned at him. "There was a really brief switch while we were in New York."

Kurt blinked. "When were we in New York?"

"A few weeks ago, before Christmas. But we're pretty sure it was you, not one of the alters."

Before Kurt could react to this, Burt straightened up, his eyebrows pulled tightly together. "Wait a minute. You're telling me that Kurt came back while you were in New York? And you didn't tell us?"

"Burt, we—"

Burt shook his head. "No," he snapped. "No, you don't have a right to do that."

"Burt!" Finn raised his voice only slightly, forcing Burt to allow him to respond. "We didn't know for sure, okay? He was only there for a minute, and we honestly didn't know that it wasn't just Tyler or Eleanor."

Burt huffed, scratching irritatedly at his temple.

"And on top of that, I wasn't even there when it happened," Finn continued. "Only Hannah saw it, and you know she's not as good at telling them apart as we are."

"You should have told me," Burt repeated.

"We didn't _know_," Finn insisted, a small wave of anger fluttering in his stomach. "There was no point in telling you Kurt was back if we weren't even sure that it was him. Alright? It would have killed you and you know it."

"Stop it!" Kurt interrupted, his spine going rigid. He rubbed anxiously at his forehead. "I'm back for a couple of hours and we're already fighting?"

"Kurt's right," Carole said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt's hand. "It's getting late. We should all get some sleep."

Kurt let out a small huff, sounding exhausted. "The last thing I want to do is go to sleep," he said.

"I don't blame you," Carole concurred. "But this conversation is better suited for tomorrow."

Finn nodded, though he wasn't sure if he agreed with her or if he was just looking for an escape route. A temporary one, anyhow. He knew there was no running away from any of this.

"I'll make up the couch for you, Kurt," Carole said. Normally, Kurt would have just gone back to his apartment on the other side of town, but it would have been cruel to insist he stay there tonight.

"Thanks, Carole. I'm going to stay up for a little while longer."

"I'll stay up with you," Burt said.

Finn yawned, dragging his hand over his hair. "Okay, I'm going to go crash," he said, dumping the cold remains of his coffee into the sink. "I'll see you all in the morning." He circled around the counter island toward the door to the living room. "And Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

Finn reached forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, realizing suddenly that the gesture was completely unreserved. For nearly ten years, Finn had felt as though, despite Andy being perfectly friendly and helpful and part of the family, there was always a certain amount of distance. Finn had never gotten the impression from Andy that he was all that welcome to express affection, and for the first time in a _very_ long time, Kurt returned the hug with sincerity.

"I've missed you, man," Finn said, letting go after several seconds.

A nervous but grateful smile tugged at Kurt's mouth. "I missed you too," he replied.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Finn promised, clapping Kurt's shoulder lightly.

None of this made any sense, and Finn was terrified of what it might mean. If Kurt was back to his old cycle of switching between alters with little warning or protection, or even if Kurt was only here for a short period of time and tomorrow he was going to vanish for another ten years, then Finn had no clue how any of them would handle it this time around. But the most important thing now, outweighing the slew of frightening possibilities and questions and uncertainties, was that Kurt was back. Kurt was home, and Finn _had_ missed him. And even if Kurt did disappear again, at least now they knew he'd have a chance of coming back.

When Finn returned to the guest bedroom, feeling heavy and exhausted and like he'd been pushed off a cliff with no warning, he found Hannah still awake. She sat propped against the headboard, reading the latest issue of _National Geographic_ with Dylan fast asleep in the crook of her arm. She let the magazine fall onto the bed beside her when Finn entered, brushing a curl of hair out of her eye and tucking it behind her ear.

"Hey," she said softly. "How is everything?"

Finn let out a weighted exhale as he unbuttoned his shirt. His shoulders felt tight, like a fist was clamping around his spine just below his neck. "I have no idea how to answer that."

Hannah was quiet for a moment, carding her fingers gently through Dylan's hair. "Do you suppose it means he's getting better?"

Finn shook his head as he undressed to his undershirt and boxers, leaving his clothes piled on the chair in the corner. "I honestly can't even think about it," he replied wearily, sliding under the covers next to her. "My brain is maxed out."

Hannah carefully shifted to lie down without waking Dylan. For the duration of their visit to Lima, Dylan had been sleeping on the foldout couch downstairs, but tonight was a worthy exception. Hannah switched off the reading lamp, and the room dove swiftly into darkness.

"Do you think Kurt will be okay?" she asked in a whisper.

Finn didn't reply immediately. His chest was tight. "The last time Kurt was around, he was twenty-four years old," he said slowly. "He's thirty-three now. How the hell do you even start to adjust to something like that?"

Hannah sighed, reaching across Dylan to brush her hand over Finn's forearm. "Try to get some sleep, okay? We'll deal with all the questions tomorrow."

"I might have to ask for a few extra days off from work."

"Worry about it tomorrow. Whatever this family needs, we're putting first."

Finn's spine finally relaxed slightly, his head sinking deeper into his pillow. He lifted his arm and wrapped his hand around Hannah's. "I love you."

"I love you too," Hannah said, squeezing his fingers. "Now get some sleep."


	2. Small Victories

..

_Small Victories_

_.._

Consciousness was a funny thing. It was such a vast concept to describe and such a strange phenomenon to experience that it would make one's head spin if they thought about it for too long – and that was just for people leading typical, uneventful lives. For Kurt, consciousness was infinitely multifaceted and impossible to pin down in any sort of coherent definition. Above all, it was absurdly difficult to reliably keep track of.

And so, when he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the living room ceiling, he jolted upright, terrified that another handful of years had passed him by without so much as a blink. He heaved a sigh of relief, seeing that the calendar on the wall hadn't changed during the night – Finn and his new family still smiled at Kurt from the glossy photo. Immediately thereafter, Kurt felt a subsequent wave of disappointment. Yesterday hadn't been any sort of dream or hallucination. He was really here, and he had really missed nearly ten years – ten _immeasurable _years – of his life.

Kurt swallowed, forcing himself to pull a few long, drawn-out breaths into his chest before pushing the blankets back and stepping out of the foldout bed, hyper-aware of the oxygen crackling in his fingertips. Being _awake_ was such a foreign sensation, and it was as though he could feel his heartbeat pulsing beneath every inch of his skin. He stretched, working the kinks out of his neck, and suddenly caught a whiff of coffee.

Caffeine had always had a way of honing his attention.

He found Finn in the kitchen, standing at the counter island with a newspaper spread out in front of him, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. Dylan sat on a booster seat at the table by the wall, messily devouring a sticky pancake with syrup all over his face and hands.

"Andy!" Dylan exclaimed cheerily as Kurt passed.

Finn's head snapped up.

"Morning," Kurt greeted him.

Finn didn't say anything immediately, appearing unsure of how to respond. His shoulders were tight.

Kurt held up his hands. "I'm still me, I promise," he said, and felt guilty when Finn quickly relaxed. Finn shouldn't have to wonder who he was going to see when Kurt walked into a room.

"You want some breakfast?" Finn offered. "Hannah made pancakes."

Kurt hoisted himself onto a stool across the island from Finn. "Yeah, please. Where is everybody?"

Finn flipped a couple of pancakes from a platter by the stove onto a separate plate for Kurt. "Hannah had to run to the store to pick up a couple things, Mom's at work, and Burt had to stop at the garage. Customer emergency or something," Finn shrugged, pushing Kurt's plate across the counter to him along with the syrup bottle. "He said he'd be back by noon."

Kurt glanced at the clock on the wall above the sink. It was barely nine-thirty.

"Is there coffee still?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, one sec," Finn said, turning around to pour an extra mug for Kurt.

"Wait, am I on any medications?" Kurt stopped him abruptly. "Anything that caffeine would mess with?"

Finn shook his head. "Nah, you're good. You're just on a mild antidepressant; that's it."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "No antipsychotics?"

"Not for a long time," Finn replied. He handed the mug to Kurt. "By the way, Burt made an appointment with your doctor for this afternoon."

Kurt couldn't suppress a small sigh. "I'm back for less than twenty-four hours and I've already got to go to the doctor's. Yay."

It had been intended as a joke (or at least half of one) but Finn didn't so much as chuckle. "Well," he said instead, scratching at his temple. "This is kind of majorly significant. You should probably jump on it as soon as possible."

Kurt nodded; he knew Finn was right. He hated to admit that immediate therapy was necessary, but his sudden reappearance was by no means a minor change of condition.

"Burt's going to go with you," Finn added. "He's taking the afternoon off."

Kurt couldn't help feeling relieved. Whatever was going on, he didn't want to face it by himself.

He shoved a bite of sugary-sweet pancake into his mouth, chewing slowly. When he swallowed, it sat in the pit of his stomach in a heavy lump.

"All done!" Dylan announced, holding up his dirty plate with sticky hands. Pancake crumbs clung to the streaks of syrup on his cheeks.

Finn snorted. "We've got to get you cleaned up there, bud," he said, walking over to lift Dylan out of his chair. He sat Dylan on counter by the sink and ran a dishcloth under the faucet. "How the hell'd you get syrup in your nose?"

Kurt watched Finn clean Dylan's face and hands with a disconsolate fascination, the weight of everything he'd missed pressing relentlessly on his spine. Just the fact that Dylan was even _there_ – that he now _existed_ and Kurt couldn't quite grasp onto memories of him being born, of Finn being a new father – was more than a little frightening. And as much as Kurt knew he should probably be happy for Finn, with his new life and new family, Kurt just felt sad.

"We going to the playground today?" Dylan asked as Finn scrubbed the syrup residue from in between his fingers.

"Probably later," Finn said, rinsing the cloth under the tap. "Maybe Grandma can take you."

"I wanna go with Andy!" Dylan demanded.

Kurt's heart skipped. He was never going to get used to that.

Finn glanced over his shoulder at Kurt for a moment in silence, then turned back to his son. "Andy has to go to the doctor's," he replied. "He can take you to the playground another day."

"Can I have chocolate milk?"

"No, you had enough sugar already," Finn said sternly. "You can have water or juice."

"Juice!"

Kurt forced himself to eat a few more bites of breakfast, trying to ignore how much his brain was shouting that Finn was nowhere near old enough to be talking like a parent.

Finn moved Dylan to the stool at the end of the counter island, then handed him a juice box from the fridge. "So…" Finn started, scratching anxiously behind his ear. "I have to ask. You really weren't here at all? Just… nothing for ten years?"

Kurt's mouth tightened briefly, his stomach twisting into knots. "I'm not sure," he said carefully. "It's hard to explain…"

Finn frowned in confusion. He clearly thought it had been a yes or no question. "What do you mean?"

Kurt traced invisible patterns on the countertop with the tip of his finger. "It's kind of like…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "You know when you space out for a while, and you get so deep into your own thoughts that no matter what's in front of you, you don't really see it?"

Finn gave a brief nod of understanding.

"And then when you eventually snap out of it, it feels weird to be where you are even though you know you didn't actually go anywhere?" Kurt sighed, his chest tight. "It's like that."

Finn was quiet for several seconds, appearing deep in thought. When he did speak, all he said was a pensive but perplexed "…Huh."

If Finn had been intending to say anything more, it was lost when a cell phone sitting on the counter and charging from the wall socket suddenly rang loudly.

"That's your phone," Finn said, unplugging it and handing it to Kurt.

It rang a second time, the name _Michael Durand_ flashing across the touchscreen.

"You… should probably answer it."

"I don't know who it is!" Kurt hissed. "Who's Michael Durand?"

"I have no idea, but it might be important."

"I'm just going to let him leave a voicemail," Kurt shook his head, dropping the phone to the counter. "I was never good at improv."

The phone ceased ringing and went quiet, then buzzed a minute later. A little bubble popped up on its screen: _New Voicemail_.

Kurt tapped the screen, and a tinny robotic voice floated out from the speaker. "_You have one new message. New message—_"

"_Hey, Andy, it's Mike calling from the Columbus Dispatch. Just calling to check in and see where you are with the piece on the new Bruckheimer flick. We were supposed to receive a draft yesterday and we haven't gotten anything from you, so if it was a technical mix-up, please let me know. It needs to be in the paper on Friday, so we need to have it in hand by Thursday night. Call me when you get a chance, thanks._"

The line clicked, leaving Kurt frowning at the phone. "…What the hell?"

"You work for a few newspapers," Finn said, sipping his coffee. "Or, Andy does, anyhow."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Did you think you didn't have a job?"

Kurt blinked. "I guess I hadn't thought about it."

"You have an apartment too," Finn continued. "A really nice one, actually; it's over on—"

"Fletcher Street," Kurt blurted out. "Sixty-seven Fletcher Street, apartment two."

Finn stared at him.

"…How did I know that?"

Finn coughed awkwardly. "Maybe you've been a little more present than you thought."

* * *

><p>"How're you feeling?" Burt asked as he pulled the truck into a parking spot between a Mini Cooper and a station wagon.<p>

Kurt glanced out the window, staring up at the sign on the vinyl-sided building reading _Burke, Lewis, & Sun Family Therapy_. "If I answer that question differently this time, are you going to stop asking me?" he asked, and immediately regretted it.

Burt's mouth clamped shut, and he switched off the engine.

Kurt huffed a sigh and sat back in the passenger seat. "Sorry. I get why you're asking," he amended. "But Dad, I really am feeling okay. I promise."

Burt reached over and squeezed Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt couldn't help noticing all the unfamiliar age lines marking his father's face. He wondered how many of those lines were from worrying.

"Can't blame me for checking in," Burt said with a half-smile. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Kurt climbed out of the car, following Burt up the steps to the front door. "Dad, the sign says this place is a family practice. Doesn't that mean they usually handle kids?"

"I think we're all involved in this enough for your case to count as a family one," Burt replied, unzipping his coat as they entered the building. "Besides, we really lucked out with Dr. Sun. She's the only doctor in Lima who has experience with DID."

"What happened to Dr. Goldberg? And Dr. McManus?" Kurt asked. He recalled that (as far as he could remember) even after he'd been discharged from Appalachian Behavioral they would still drive to Athens for bi-weekly appointments with McManus just so that he wouldn't have to readjust to a new therapist.

"McManus retired about six years ago," Burt answered.

Kurt felt a wave of disappointment. He'd trusted Dr. McManus deeply, and the three-hour trips to Athens had always felt worth it.

"You saw Dr. Goldberg a few times afterwards, but I think he was never really a good fit," Burt continued. "I mean, you didn't really start making progress until you started seeing Dr. McManus. You needed someone who was more personal, so we decided to look for other options. And, like I said, we really lucked out."

The waiting room was small and not fancy. A water cooler in one corner, a large potted fern in the other, cheaply upholstered chairs and a bin full of children's toys and books. The front desk was occupied by a clean-cut young man in glasses with a pen tucked behind his ear. There were only three other people in the waiting room – an elderly woman with a baby girl sitting in her lap, and a jittery middle-aged man who looked like he was waiting for someone. All in all, it felt homey and welcoming.

Burt leaned an elbow on the front desk. "We're here to see Dr. Sun," he said to the secretary. "Last name's Hummel."

"Of course, Mr. Hummel. Have a seat; she'll be right with you."

Kurt stripped off his knee-length coat and scarf as they moved to sit down. It was plenty warm in the office and he was already overheating. "Do I have to fill out any paperwork?" he asked.

Burt shook his head. "You've been coming here for almost six years. Everything's already been done, don't worry."

"The secretary didn't know who you were," Kurt pointed out.

"That's because I pretty much never come to your appointments with you." Burt readjusted his baseball hat, scratching idly at the back of his head. "Andy's very independent. I've only been here a couple of times."

A door on the other side of the front desk opened, and a small-statured woman emerged carrying a blue folder in the crook of her elbow. Kurt immediately recognized her, although he wasn't sure exactly how, and stood up before she had a chance to call his name.

"Kurt?" she said, a bright smile spreading across her features when he approached her. She was Chinese, clearly in her late forties but had aged well, her sleek black hair twisted into a bun and pinned to the back of her head. She wasn't dressed like a doctor, instead wearing slim jeans and a billowy white blouse. She held out her hand. "I'm Holly Sun. It's great to finally meet you."

Kurt shook her hand, and he failed to miss the odd look the secretary gave the two of them. The secretary (Steve, according to the nameplate atop the desk) obviously knew Kurt's face and was aware that Kurt wasn't a new patient, and so the introduction must have appeared strange out of context.

"Steve, hold all my calls for the next hour, please," Dr. Sun requested, then gestured with an open arm toward the door she'd come through. "Shall we?"

"Is my dad coming with me?" Kurt asked, glancing over his shoulder to where Burt was still sitting.

"He can join us later, if you'd like him to. For now, I'd like to speak with you one-on-one," Dr. Sun said. "Is that all right with you?"

Kurt took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

She cast a small wave in Burt's direction, then led Kurt through the door to her office. "Make yourself comfortable," she said cheerfully.

Kurt sat awkwardly on the couch against the wall, feeling out of place and hyper-alert. This whole place was so strangely new and familiar at the same time, and his brain was prickling as he struggled to wrap his mind around it. The walls were painted a soothing sky blue, and the room was small but comfortably furnished, with plenty of sunlight pouring in through the windows behind Dr. Sun's desk. There were a handful of framed watercolor paintings – one was of a forest at sunset, another was a close-up portrait of a deer. Kurt twisted to look at the painting hung above where he was sitting, remembering before he saw it that it depicted a large oak tree at the height of autumn, its bright red leaves still clinging to its branches.

Kurt sat back as Dr. Sun picked up a notepad from her desk and came over to sit in the chair opposite Kurt. "Help yourself to the candied ginger," she offered, gesturing to a small bowl sitting on the coffee table.

"Thanks," Kurt said, but didn't take any.

"So," Dr. Sun began, smiling again. "This must be very new for you."

"Kind of an understatement."

"How are you feeling?"

Kurt anxiously tugged at his earlobe. "Disoriented, I guess."

"Well, typically, I meet with you every three weeks to check in and see how things are going," she explained. "On the rare occasion that another alter shows up in your day-to-day life, we have an extra meeting to talk about what that could mean and to try to get everything back on the right track. Now that you're here, however, we may want to increase the frequency of our appointments for the time being."

Kurt nodded. "Okay, that sounds fine."

"Can you tell me how long you've been gone exactly?"

"Um… my dad said it was nine years and eight months." Kurt's stomach clenched; there was no way to say that with quite the amount of weight it deserved.

"Is he correct?"

"What do you mean?"

Dr. Sun leaned back in her chair, draping one leg over the other. She was wearing sandals despite it being January. "I mean, are there any points when you can remember coming back in that time? It's possible that this isn't your first transition back since then."

Kurt chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to think. The only crisp and clear memories he had felt so far away, and everything else that felt at all recent was blurry and disconnected. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Finn thinks I came back a few weeks ago, when we were in New York. He said it didn't last long, though – only a couple minutes – and they're not sure it was me."

Sun scribbled on her notepad for a moment, her lips pursed. "Hm, Andy should have mentioned that to me."

"You've been my therapist for six years, right?"

"Just about."

"So… what exactly is Andy's deal?"

"Pardon?"

Kurt looked out the window, studying the snow-covered parking lot. A breeze blew past the trees lining the road, knocking fistfuls of snow from the branches to the ground. "I'm just a little confused as to why he took over," he said. "The last I remember, Andy hadn't been around for all that long. He was, you know, the new guy, and the next thing I know I wake up ten years later and he's taken over my life."

"You're wondering why he became the dominant personality."

Kurt shifted in his seat, turning away from the window. "Yeah, I guess that's putting it more succinctly."

"Well, one of the things that makes treatment of your condition so complicated is because it's an illness that is almost purely psychological, with practically zero physical symptoms." Dr. Sun clasped her hands in her lap, her several rings clacking against each other. "This means that everything we do is inconcrete and is – at best – an educated guess."

"So what's your educated guess?"

"Judging by my extensive experience with Andy and my very limited experience with the other alters, I have to stay that I'm absolutely stunned by Andy's capacity – and by extent, yours – for managing an unhindered life. With the exception of very, very rare transitions, Andy handles life on the whole with an incredible amount of levelheadedness that, to be quite honest, I've never seen in an alter before."

Kurt frowned, partly unsure of what she meant exactly, and partly upset that one of his alters was better equipped to lead a normal life than he was.

Dr. Sun noticed his expression, and she let out a small sigh. "Kurt, I think that for you, Andy was a very smart decision."

"I didn't decide for him—"

She held up a hand. "I know, you didn't consciously decide for him to develop," she quickly said. "But I believe that you knew, subconsciously at least, that you weren't ready to handle things yourself. There's no shame in that whatsoever, but it meant that in order to cope, you had to figure out another strategy, and Andy was that strategy."

Kurt's vision blurred unexpectedly, and he swiped the heel of his hand over his eyes. He hadn't realized he was crying.

"Kurt, listen to me." Sun leaned forward. "The fact that you're here now, fully awake and aware as _yourself_, is a massive sign."

"Of what?" Kurt asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Of the possibility that you're ready to face what happened to you," Dr. Sun smiled encouragingly, her eyes crinkling.

"I don't feel ready," Kurt admitted. His lungs felt like they were being relentlessly squeezed inside his chest.

"Kurt, whatever happens, whether this means you're ready or not, I'm not going anywhere," Dr. Sun insisted. "Your support network is one the most important things to maintain, and I'm going to be here for you, for as long as it takes."

Kurt's throat felt constricted, like there was a rock sitting in the pit of his esophagus. He had never heard any of his doctors promise that before – not even Dr. McManus.

"We're going to get you better, Kurt. I promise. Whatever it takes."


	3. Thin Winter Light

_.._

_Thin Winter Light_

_.._

When Burt and Kurt returned home, the red winter sun was already beginning to set. The shadows grew long and stretched, and Kurt shivered in his coat as he followed Burt into the house.

"We're home," Burt called, hanging his jacket on the rack by the door.

Hannah was in the kitchen, making macaroni and cheese while Dylan sat on a stool at the counter and drew in a Hot Wheels coloring book. "Hey there," she greeted them. "You guys hungry?"

"Nah, I'm good until dinner," Burt shook his head. He ruffled Dylan's hair with his palm. "Hiya, kiddo. What're you coloring?"

"A dump truck," Dylan replied matter-of-factly. "It's pink!"

"I see that."

Kurt coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, Dad," he started. "I was thinking that maybe I could stop by my apartment before dinner."

Burt looked up. "Yeah? You want me to go with you?"

"No, that's okay. I just need a shower and a change of clothes; I'll be back in time for dinner."

"You sure?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine." He turned to head out the door, and then stopped. "Um, do you mind if I borrow the car?"

Burt exchanged a brief glance with Hannah. "Kurt, you have your own car."

"…Right."

"Keys are on the rack."

"…Got them." Kurt picked up the one set of keys hanging on the small set of hooks just above the counter closest to the door.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Dad, I'm okay. I've got my phone. If anything happens, I'll call you." Kurt pushed the front door open and stepped out, but not before Burt called out one last tip.

"It's the Subaru."

Kurt threw a wave over his shoulder, letting the front door swing shut after him. Descending the front steps, Kurt clicked the tiny remote hanging off the keychain. The headlights of the Subaru Outback parked on the street by their front lawn flashed once. Kurt took a deep breath.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "My car."

The vehicle's interior was meticulously clean everywhere apart from the floors, which bore a layer of sand and gravel tracked in from the roads. There were absolutely no personal items that Kurt could see – nothing hanging from the rearview mirror, no travel mugs left in the cup holders, no bags forgotten in the back seats.

"Okay," he said to no one in particular as he turned the key in the ignition. "Sixty-seven Fletcher Street."

Driving through downtown Lima was almost eerie. Many of the businesses Kurt remembered were still in the same spots – Molly's 24-Hour Diner, the White Wizard tattoo parlor, the florist on Elm Street, St. Rita's Hospital – but others had vanished, new and unfamiliar storefronts taking their place. It was only through memories of the city layout and sheer muscle memory that Kurt managed to zigzag his way through town to a neighborhood on the north side of Schoonover Park, almost missing the left turn onto Fletcher.

Number 67 was a well-maintained Victorian-style house with two stories, painted a deep maroon with mahogany-colored eaves. Strangely enough, it did look like a place Kurt himself would choose to live, had he preferred to stay in Lima rather than New York or somewhere else more cosmopolitan. Kurt parked by the curb, locked the car and made his way up the shoveled walkway to the porch.

He found the front door locked, and instinctively reached for the key on his chain bearing a red cap. It opened on the first try.

"I am never going to get used to that," he sighed, wondering how many times he had said or thought that exact phrase in the past two days.

Inside was a small foyer, a door to the left labeled _1 – Miller_ and a stairwell ahead. A couple of bicycles sat in the narrow corridor past the banister. Kurt swallowed the fluttering sensation in his stomach, and climbed the stairs. On the second floor he found another small hallway with only a single door, this one labeled _2 – Hummel_.

Still not-quite-remembering, Kurt lifted the key with a green cap and slid it neatly into the keyhole. The lock clicked solidly, and the door opened.

Kurt's breath _whooshed_ from his lungs as he stepped into the apartment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find, or what he thought it might be like, but it was… normal. Utterly unimpressive, typical, and stunningly normal. Kurt flicked the light switch by the door and stood unmoving for a moment. Immediately in front of him was an archway leading into the kitchen, which was neatly kept with no dirty dishes left in the sink or crumbs on the counters. To his right opened up the living room and dining area – a couch with a TV, an armchair and ottoman, an expensive stereo system, a few framed photos decorating the walls. The only disorganized spaces were the coffee table, strewn with magazines and newspapers, and the dining table, which clearly doubled as both a place to eat and a place to work. A laptop sat open on the table, surrounded by a small pile of papers and more magazines.

Kurt shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of one of the dining chairs. He leaned over the mess of papers and picked up a random few, attempting to see what Andy had been working on last, and was startled to find that the printed words were nothing but blurs on the pages.

"What the…"

He squinted at the passages, only to have them worsen into less discernible smudges. Frowning as the backs of his eyes suddenly began to ache, Kurt held his hand further away, and the words slid into focus. He glanced around the room – everything else was crystal clear.

"Great," he huffed, not entirely unbitter. "I'm farsighted." As though on cue, he spotted a pair of glasses resting on the table next to the computer.

He was about to tentatively pick them up when his phone rang from his coat pocket, discourteously shattering the silence and making him jump. Swearing under his breath, Kurt dropped the papers back onto the table and dug through the coat, fishing out the phone to see _Michael Durand _lighting up the screen.

He quickly hit _Reject_ and left the phone on the table, reminding himself why he'd come here to begin with.

Heading for a door on the opposite side of the living room, Kurt entered the bedroom. The queen-sized bed hadn't been made, but the rest of the room was kept clean. A private bathroom opened up through the door adjacent to the closet.

Kurt moved to go into the bathroom, but stopped in his tracks in front of the bureau seated against the wall. Sitting atop the vintage dresser was a small congregation of framed photos, and Kurt's stomach suddenly twisted itself into knots. His chest ached hollowly and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

At the forefront was a photo of Finn and Hannah's wedding party – Hannah in her white dress flanked by her parents, and Finn standing proudly beside her. Carole and Burt posed next to him, and Kurt next to them. They were all smiling, and Kurt just wanted to cry. Here was physical proof that he had been present for his brother's wedding, and he couldn't remember it. He could remember which of his keys opened his apartment, but he couldn't recall his own brother's wedding day.

Sitting to the right was a picture of himself more recently, carrying Dylan on his shoulders at a beach he didn't recognize. Both his and Dylan's arms were outstretched, their hands joined. Dylan was giggling and a grin was plastered across Kurt's face. He wished he knew who had taken the picture.

The rest of the frames held similar non-memories, places and events he couldn't identify or connect. Kurt swallowed and worked up the courage to step away from the bureau, reminding himself that he had promised to be back home in time for dinner.

Except, that wasn't _really _his home anymore. This apartment – unfamiliar and filled to the brim with traces of a stranger – was his home instead.

In the bathroom, Kurt was confronted with another image he'd been completely unprepared for. Seeing himself in the mirror for the first time since he'd come back yesterday, Kurt's heart came to a complete stop. Staring back at him from his reflection was a man – not a boy or a young man, like he'd been expecting, but an actual _man_. He still looked like himself, but there were so many small shifts in his appearance that he almost seemed like a completely different person. His chest and shoulders had filled out, his facial features sharpened, and a faint line of stubble ran along his jawline. There were a handful of barely visible lines pressed into the corners of his eyes, and above the collar of his shirt, Kurt could clearly see his anchor tattoo inked into the skin of his neck. The black lines still looked nearly new, the edges hardly faded at all.

Kurt held his breath for a few moments, trying to slow his racing heart. _Could've been worse_, he tried to reason. _I could've woken up with grey hair._

He tore his eyes away from the mirror, trying not to catch his reflection again as he unbuttoned his shirt. At the very least, he could look forward to a shower. He pulled off his shirt and undershirt, tossing them into the laundry hamper by the door. He reached down to unbuckle his belt, but halted, raising his arms slightly.

Stretched up and down his wrists were his scars; he had almost forgotten about them. Jagged white lines knitted into his skin, stark even against his natural pale complexion. He glanced down at his chest, his heart sinking when he found that, yes, all of his cigarette burns were still there. Small round pockmarks marring his torso in a grotesque constellation; he didn't have to look in the mirror to know that the two identical scars on his back were there also.

No matter how much he didn't recognize his house or his family or his own reflection, all of his scars meant the same thing. They penetrated his protective skin and bored into his bones, screaming only one message at him from every nerve in his body:

_This is who you are. Don't forget it._

* * *

><p>In the living room of the Hudson-Hummel house, Finn sat on the couch with Dylan, reading <em>Little Blue Truck Leads The Way<em> while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor. She had a large assortment of watercolor paintings spread out haphazardly around her, scribbling notes into her grade book as she examined them one by one.

"_A marching band joined the big parade,_" Finn read. "_Boom! went the drums, and the trumpets played—_"

"Boom!" Dylan chimed in, grabbing eagerly at the pages.

"It's a good thing they make these things out of cardboard," Finn said, making Hannah chuckle from her seat on the carpet. "What are you working on, babe?"

"Oh, I'm just grading the last assignments I gave before Christmas break," she answered without looking up. "I should've finished them like two weeks ago, but you know me."

"Queen procrastinator," Finn agreed. "Anything I can help you with?"

Hannah reached up to reposition the large hair clip keeping her curls out of her eyes. "No, I'm good. Please continue with your _riveting _performance of Little Blue Truck." She winked.

"Yes, ma'am."

Before Finn could continue reading to Dylan, Burt came in from the kitchen, wiping his fingers with a dishtowel.

"Hey," said Hannah. "How are the burgers coming?"

"Good, about fifteen more minutes. You mind giving Kurt a call to see how close he is? I've got meat grime all over my hands from the patties."

Hannah pulled her cell out of her jeans pocket and dialed Kurt's number, holding it to her ear for a minute. Her brows pulled together. "I got his voicemail."

Burt frowned, and in an instant Finn could see alarm flit across his stepfather's face.

"He's probably still in the shower," Hannah said quickly. "Maybe he just can't hear his phone."

"You want me to run over to the apartment?" Finn offered, though there was frankly nothing he'd rather be doing at the moment than read _Little Blue Truck_. If Kurt was fine, then there was no real point in going. If Kurt was _not_ fine, Finn really just wanted the peace to last a bit longer. A little denial could go a long way.

"Yeah, would you?" Burt nodded, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at his fingers with the dishcloth. "Dinner'll be done by the time you get back."

"Okay, Dylan, go play with Mom," Finn said, nudging Dylan off his lap.

"Where you going?" asked Dylan, dragging _Little Blue Truck Leads The Way _with him by one of its beat-up pages.

"I'm going to pick up Uncle Andy." Finn stood up, shaking out the arm that had fallen asleep while Dylan was sitting on it.

"Can I go with you?"

"No, no, you stay here with Mom. I'll see you in a bit." Finn gave Dylan another gentle push towards Hannah, who was already putting away her students' work in its folder.

"Call me when you get there," Burt said as Finn passed through the kitchen to the front door, shrugging on his coat. Finn could hear a slight tremor of anxiety in Burt's voice.

The drive across town to Fletcher Street took a few minutes, but to Finn it lasted only a handful of seconds. It was beginning to snow in the grey evening light, and even though it was cold enough in the car to raise goosebumps on his skin beneath his clothes, Finn wasn't shivering. He was pretty sure his heart was beating too slowly.

He drove past Schoonover Park and turned onto Fletcher, parking the minivan by the curb and stepping out into the cold, his breath fogging in front of his nose. Kurt's Subaru was sitting quietly in its designated parking spot just ahead. Finn drew a breath of frigid air deep into his lungs before crossing the small grassy patch between the road and the house, then climbed the porch steps and let himself into the foyer with his key. They had agreed as a family that it would be safest for all of them – Burt, Carole, and Finn – to carry copies of Kurt's keys (just in case), and while most of the time there was really nothing to worry about, it was a security measure that Finn greatly appreciated.

On the second floor, Finn held the apartment key in his hand but knocked first, hoping that Kurt would answer the door instead. "Kurt?" he called. There was a beat of silence, and he knocked again. "Kurt, you there?"

Finn swallowed, the chill seeping into the pit of his stomach.

He was just about to unlock the door himself when it swung open, and Kurt stood in front of him with his cell phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He had showered and changed and was now wearing his glasses, a fistful of red-marked edited pages in one hand and a pen in the other. He waved at Finn briefly over his shoulder, not pausing for a greeting as he turned and walked back into the apartment, continuing his conversation on the phone.

"—sure thing. Okay, Mike, I forwarded you the first draft of the Bruckheimer piece, and I'm about halfway through the one on the _Wicked _remake, so I'll have that for you by Saturday."

Finn stared at Kurt's retreating back, stepping cautiously into the apartment. He shut the door behind him. "Kurt?" he said.

Kurt held up a finger, silently telling Finn to wait. "Yeah, absolutely," he continued, dropping his pages onto the dining room table by his computer. "Sorry for the delay. Alright, have a good evening." He ended the call, leaning over the table to scribble something onto a notepad. "Hey, Finn, what's up?" he asked without raising his head.

"Andy."

Kurt finally looked up. "Yeah."

Finn wanted to punch the wall. "Where's Kurt? Why isn't he here?"

Kurt frowned slightly. "I have a deadline," he said, as if it should have been obvious.

"You have…" Finn trailed off, completely unsure if he would rather scream or just grab Kurt by the shoulders and shake him. "Andy, you need to let Kurt come back right now."

Kurt straightened up, snatching his glasses off his nose in irritation. "Finn, for God's sake, we've been over this a hundred times. I can't control what Kurt does. I'm not _keeping_ him from being here, all right?"

"It sure seems like it," Finn snapped.

Kurt's mouth clamped shut, and Finn regretted saying anything at all.

Letting out a heavy breath to calm his nerves, Finn shook his head and reached into his pocket. "I have to call Burt and let him know you're not coming."

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't come to dinner," Kurt countered.

Finn paused, his cell phone already in his hand. "…No offense, Andy," he started nervously, not quite able to meet Kurt's eye. "But I think it might be better for you to skip this one."

Kurt raised his hands placatingly. "Alright, fine," he acquiesced, pulling his fingers through his hair. "I'll stay here and get some work done."

"You've got a deadline, I know."

Finn turned to leave, but not quickly enough to miss the hurt expression on Kurt's face.

* * *

><p>Holly Sun was stretched out on the couch with her feet in her husband's lap, the two of them in the midst of watching <em>Bullitt<em> when the phone on the coffee table rang. Only mildly upset that her evening had been interrupted, Sun picked up the receiver while Jack paused the movie, Steve McQueen's face freezing in place on the TV screen.

"Hello?"

"_Andy's back._"

Sun sat up at once, recognizing Burt Hummel's voice and needing no clarification. She held her hand over the receiver mouthpiece. "Jack, it's work. Sorry."

Jack held up his hands. "Say no more," he said, and quickly excused himself to the kitchen, letting her take the call in private.

Sun put the phone back to her ear. "How's he doing?"

"_Didn't you hear me?_" Burt asked brusquely. "_Andy's _back_._"

She ran a palm over her hair, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. Burt sounded desperate, and she couldn't exactly blame him for that. "Burt, if you're calling to ask me why Kurt transitioned," she began carefully, "I'm sorry but you would know better than I. He transitions when he's particularly stressed. You know that, and you've been with him more recently than I have. Was there a clear trigger?"

"_No, Andy just – just reappeared_," Burt snapped, frustration seeping through the phone. "_Did he say anything during your meeting?_"

"If he did, I wouldn't be able to tell you. He's my patient," Sun reminded him gently. "You know that perfectly well too."

"_Well, what am I supposed to do?_" Burt demanded. "_Is – is he going to be gone for a day? A week? Another – another ten years?_" His voice cracked at the end, and Sun wished there was a concrete answer to give him.

She sighed, shifting to sink back into the couch. "Burt. You have to understand that even though Kurt's mental state may have improved enough for him to come back, this is still a major life change for him," she explained, attempting to phrase what she needed to say as diplomatically as possible. "And however positive the change might be, it's still going to carry a great amount of stress. It won't be an instantaneous adjustment. You have to give him time and allow him to deal with it in his own way, at his own pace."

Burt was quiet on the other end.

"…Burt?"

"_I'm still here._"

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

There was a pregnant pause, and finally Burt spoke again. "_What if Kurt doesn't come back this time?_"

"I don't have all the answers, Burt," Sun confessed. "I'm just here to provide support, and I will be there for all of you if anything happens. But if Kurt's not in danger currently, then you need to give him some space and let him do his thing. Do you think you can do that?"

A heavy exhale from the other end made the line crackle with static. "_Yes. I can try._"

"Okay, good. Well, I've got an appointment with Kurt scheduled for next week, but until then, keep me in the loop if anything major happens."

"_Okay_."

"Good night, Burt."

Sun hung up, sinking back into the couch and feeling somewhat ineffectual. Kurt was not her first patient suffering from this particular illness, but he was definitely among her toughest to treat. It wasn't that Andy hadn't been helpful or cooperative – it was just that making any sort of _real _progress was nearly impossible with Andy as the dominant personality with no trace of Kurt to be seen. Now that Kurt had resurfaced, maybe there was something that could be done, but Sun knew it would have to be taken slowly and delicately if treatment was going to be effective at all.

If they went about it wrong, Kurt could simply retreat again, and never come back.

"Everything okay?"

Sun was shaken out of her thoughts. Her husband was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, holding a beer in each hand. Jack held one out to her as he came over to rejoin her on the sofa.

"Yeah, of course," she said, already wanting to take her mind off the issue – at least temporarily. "Go ahead, play the movie."

* * *

><p>Cold air filled Kurt's lungs, chilling him from the inside out as he opened his eyes, finding himself seated on an icy bench. His breath hung in front of his nose, dissipating slowly as he looked around. He was in his old familiar playground, but it was… changed. Nothing looked quite the same even here.<p>

The grass was gone, a layer of snow carpeting the frozen ground in patches. Icicles hung from the swing set and the monkey bars and the tiny carousel. The nearby trees had lost their leaves, their branches left bare as bones. It was so _quiet_. No hint of a breeze, or leaves rustling. The sky was blanketed with heavy grey clouds, trapping the playground in silence.

Kurt could see Tyler curled up on the other bench across the playground, asleep with his arms clutched around Raleigh and a dusting of snow covering him. Further away, still stuck inside the jungle gym, was Schism. He was half-buried in snow and looked as though he'd remained still for so long that he'd eventually frozen solid, his body withered and wasted in the cold.

Kurt shivered.

He jumped and almost cried out when he was abruptly punched in the shoulder, making him lurch to his feet. Eleanor and Robbie were standing next to him, Robbie's arms crossed over his chest and Eleanor's fist still clenched. Their fingers had turned dark with frostbite.

Eleanor's jaw twitched. "About fucking time you showed up."


	4. Truth Be Told

..

_Truth Be Told_

..

Tuesday morning dawned sunny and breezy, knocking heavy clumps of snow off the branches of the evergreens. Finn had woken earlier than usual and eaten breakfast alone in the kitchen while the sun rose outside, casting dappled pale light over the snowdrifts outside. He then did a handful of chores to make things easier on his mother, and was in the middle of taking the trash out to the street when Kurt's Subaru pulled up to park at the edge of the lawn. Finn shivered, wearing only his pajama pants, undershirt, and parka, and waited with his heart in his stomach for Kurt to get out of the car.

Kurt stepped out of the driver's seat and shut the door behind him, clutching a large paper bag in one hand. "I brought bagels," he announced.

"I already ate."

"And a good morning to you, too," Kurt replied dryly. "I have a couple cinnamon-raisin ones for Dylan."

"Thanks, Andy," Finn said, unable to keep the tightness out of his voice. He hoped that Kurt would frown and take offense that Finn had mistaken him for Andy, but instead Kurt only nodded.

"We should probably go inside before you freeze," Kurt suggested, eyeing the flip-flops that Finn had slipped on to take out the trash.

Finn sighed, his breath misting and curling up around his ears. The icy wind tugged at his flannel pajama bottoms. He wasn't sure if Burt and Carole would accept Andy being at the breakfast table rather than Kurt, but he knew they couldn't just keep him out of the house like a stray dog. "Alright, come on," Finn caved, walking back up the walkway with Kurt trailing behind.

Inside, Finn pulled off his boots at the door while Kurt dropped the bag of bagels on the counter and stripped off his coat. "There should be some cream cheese in the fridge," Finn said, hanging up his parka. "I'm going to go check on Dylan."

Kurt sent a thumbs-up over his shoulder, already rummaging through the refrigerator as Finn left the kitchen.

Finn gave himself a shake as he headed upstairs, trying (and failing) to relieve the tension from his shoulders and spine. He hated this. His relationship with Andy had only been strained in the beginning, before Kurt had disappeared. At first, Finn just put up with Andy because he didn't have any other option. Later on, they eventually developed a strangely friendly relationship that Finn had never had with the other alters – while the rest of them were angry or scared or even completely out of touch with reality, Andy was a constant. He was responsible and careful, and most importantly, he was trustworthy. He was a little emotionally detached, perhaps, but at least Finn and his parents never had to worry that Andy would hurt Kurt like Truman and Eleanor and Craig, or completely shut down like Tyler and Zack and Schism. Andy was safe.

And within a day, that entire perception had been flipped on its head.

As soon as Kurt had reappeared, Andy once again became a threat, in the same way the rest of the alters were threats regardless of whether they were antagonistic. Andy's sheer _existence_ threatened their ability to keep Kurt in place for long, and now that they knew that Kurt wasn't entirely gone… It made Andy's presence a slap in the face.

In the guest room, Dylan was still asleep, sprawled out under the covers with one arm wrapped tightly around Siggy, his stuffed zebra. He'd spent the night with Finn and Hannah again. Finn let him continue sleeping while he threw on some actual clothes, discarding his pajama pants and undershirt on the chair in the corner in favor of a t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. He could hear Hannah taking a shower down the hall.

Finn leaned over the edge of the bed, patting Dylan's back. "Hey, buddy. Time to get up. Come on."

Dylan blearily opened his eyes and lifted his head, his rumpled hair sticking up in about six different directions.

"Guess what," Finn said, trying to smooth down the cowlick at the back of Dylan's head. "Uncle Andy brought you some bagels."

Dylan instantly perked up, sitting up on his knees. His Superman pajamas crackled with static. "Cim'mon raisin?" he asked.

"You bet. You hungry?"

"Yeah!"

Finn grinned, lifting Dylan out of the bed and propping him on his hip. Dylan dragged Siggy with him, yawning despite his excitement at the prospect of his favorite breakfast.

"Morning, guys," Burt said from the hallway, emerging from his and Carole's room. "Hannah downstairs already?"

"No, she's in the shower. Andy's making breakfast."

Burt paused, his jaw tightening momentarily. "Andy is?" he said, and Finn could practically see the anxiety seizing Burt's heart.

"Yeah."

Burt let out a long breath, rubbing a palm over his scalp in agitation.

Finn shifted Dylan to his other hip. "Burt, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

His stepfather nodded, but it didn't look like he believed Finn in the slightest. He just looked _sad_.

Still, they couldn't avoid Andy forever, and Burt knew that as well as Finn did. Together they headed downstairs, finding the kitchen counters already laid out with sliced and toasted bagels, cream cheese, butter, and jam.

"You've been busy," said Burt. His voice shook almost imperceptibly.

Kurt was already chewing on a large bite of an asagio, which he had to swallow before replying. "I got the tomato-basil ones you like," he said, gesturing to the end of the counter.

Finn set Dylan on a stool at the island, where there was already a plate with a buttered cinnamon-raisin, and abruptly realized what this breakfast was. This was a peace offering. Or, at least, it was an attempt at one. Andy felt guilty for being here.

Finn sat on the stool next to Dylan, watching Kurt go about setting breakfast up for everyone. Kurt offered him a bagel, and when Finn politely refused, right away offered coffee instead. Finn didn't want coffee either, but he accepted it anyways. Maybe the best thing they could do was let Kurt do whatever he felt like he needed to accomplish in this particular moment.

Burt sat at the small kitchen table, further away from Kurt.

"You want coffee, Burt?"

Finn didn't miss the slight wince on Burt's face – almost a flinch, really – when Kurt called him by his actual name rather than 'Dad'.

"Sure," Burt forced out, not quite meeting Kurt's eye.

Carole came into the kitchen then, wrapped up in her fluffy blue bathrobe, and bid everyone a good morning. She gave Dylan a kiss on the top of his head, wiping butter and bagel crumbs from his cheek. Kurt had his back to them, digging through the fridge in search of the orange juice. Carole glanced at Finn, her eyes questioning. Finn shook his head slightly, and her shoulders fell. Finn knew she'd been hoping as much as the rest of them that Kurt would be back by this morning.

"Carole, you want coffee or juice?" Kurt asked over his shoulder.

"Tea's fine, thanks," she said, and Finn could tell that her smile was falsely bright. She moved to join Burt at the table, reaching over to squeeze his hand in silent consolation.

Burt was fuming. Rage was blatantly etched into his jaw, his taut shoulders, the fists he was trying not to clench. Finn sipped his coffee, burning his tongue, and hoped Burt wouldn't start a fight. Kurt needed time.

No such luck.

"Andy, where the hell is Kurt?" Burt finally said, his words resonating like a guitar string that had been tightened past its capacity. "Why isn't he here?"

Kurt was quiet for a second, and Finn felt all the muscles in his abdomen involuntarily go rigid.

"I don't have an answer for you," Kurt said. Finn couldn't tell if his tone was offended or apologetic.

"Why not?"

Kurt, who had been just about to slice an orange in half, placed the knife flat on the cutting board. "We've been over this, Burt," he stated cautiously. "I don't communicate with the alters."

"Kurt's not an alter."

"I don't communicate with him either."

Burt sniffed, appearing for just a moment like a bull ready to charge. "Andy, it's been ten _years_, and Kurt suddenly shows up again, and the next thing we know he's gone and you're here again. You didn't bother telling anyone Kurt was still around, and—"

Kurt interrupted him then, cutting him off with a raised voice. "Hey, I didn't know that Kurt was still here, okay? If I had, I would have told you."

"Excuse me if I don't believe that for a second," Burt snapped.

Kurt's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching. "I'm not Eleanor or Robbie," he argued. "I don't reject medication. I don't hurt Kurt or anyone else. I don't hide from you, or screw with you because I think it's funny. And I've never lied to you."

"Yeah?" Burt demanded. "How the hell am I supposed to know that for sure?"

Kurt held up a hand as if to say _STOP_, his shoulders pulling back as he drew his spine upward. "I am not on trial here, so don't talk to me like I am," he ordered, the pitch of his voice dropping several tones in anger. "You should show me a little respect."

Finn felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He'd never seen Andy quite this furious before. He debated for a split second whether it would be better to take Dylan out of the kitchen and away from this before the argument escalated, but Burt seemed to have reached his boiling point already.

"For what?" Burt seethed.

"For protecting your _son_!" Kurt braced his hand against the top of the counter, looking as though he was trying to keep himself from going anywhere. "Listen, Burt, regardless of whether he's going to come back today, or tomorrow, or next month or _never_… the only reason he's lived this long is because of _me_. I've never hurt him or given you any reason to not trust me, so I think I've earned the right to be spoken to like an adult." Kurt released a huff of air, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. "Don't you?"

Burt's mouth clamped shut, and he shook his head once before standing up from the table. "I can't deal with… with _this_," he gestured despairingly in Kurt's direction. "I can't right now. I just…" He shook his head again, then sniffed (Finn was pretty sure Burt was holding back tears) and walked out of the room.

"Is Grampa mad?" Dylan asked.

Finn let out a long breath, the back of his head buzzing like he either had too much or too little oxygen in his bloodstream. "He's okay," he promised, rubbing Dylan's back solidly. "Come on, eat your bagel."

Carole had sat back in her chair, her arms crossed and her mug of steaming tea untouched. "Andy, you really need to cut Burt some slack," she said lowly.

Kurt sighed, leaning back against the counter. To his benefit, he didn't really seem all that angry anymore – only frustrated, and perhaps just as much as Burt. "I get it, Carole. I really do," he replied calmly (a welcome change of tone). He raked his fingers through his hair. "But I can't – I can't just pull Kurt out of a hat like a magic rabbit. I'm not a puppeteer."

Carole only appeared to be more annoyed by this statement, and pursed her lips. When she spoke, her response was diplomatic but still managed to sound like a warning. "We understand that, Andy. In the meantime, however, _you_ need to treat Kurt's _father_ with the respect that _he_ deserves."

Kurt's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. There was nothing left to debate.

Carole stood up and went after Burt, leaving Kurt alone in the kitchen with Finn and Dylan.

Kurt sighed, not moving from his position leaning on the counter for several long moments. Eventually, he straightened up and snatched his unfinished bagel from the island, irritatedly ripping off a piece with his teeth. Finn sipped his coffee.

"Are you going to accuse me of keeping Kurt locked up too?" Kurt asked when he noticed Finn watching him.

"No."

"So, what, you think they're right or you just don't want to argue?"

"Both."

Kurt blinked at him. "Fair enough."

After that, neither of them pushed the issue any further. Finn coaxed Dylan to actually _eat_ his breakfast rather than just happily licking all the butter off of it, and Kurt set about cleaning up the half-finished food left on the counters and table. While he worked, Finn watched his back. Kurt's shoulders were tighter than usual, his movements a little too controlled, and Finn was fairly sure Kurt was outright avoiding looking at him.

_Come on, Kurt,_ Finn prayed. _Don't disappear on us again._

* * *

><p>Kurt's teeth chattered as he studied the frozen playground. Even with Eleanor and Robbie there, it felt <em>empty<em>. Tyler hadn't moved, and Kurt was beginning to wonder if he'd gone the same way as Schism, simply freezing solid where he was. The carousel and swing set both bore patches of rust along the metal bars, and over by the slide one of the platforms had collapsed, broken wooden planks hanging haphazardly to the ground with rusty nails sticking out. The whole playground looked like it was dying.

"What happened to this place?" he asked.

"Nothing," Robbie said, pacing behind the bench where Kurt and Eleanor were sitting. The snow crunched under his shoes. "Nothing happened. Ever."

"Things got… really quiet after you left," Eleanor said. Her frostbitten fingers were stiff; she kept rubbing and squeezing and trying to warm them up.

"I didn't _leave_, I just—"

Eleanor crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

Kurt sighed. "Not intentionally."

"Oh. Sure," Eleanor said flatly. "That makes everything better."

Kurt didn't say anything for a moment, looking across the playground to where Tyler was laying on the other bench, covered in snow. He couldn't tell from here if Tyler was breathing. "Is he dead?"

"We don't know," said Robbie.

Kurt gave Robbie and incredulous look. "You don't _know_?"

"Hey, we've done what we can, okay?" Eleanor snapped. "Tyler just doesn't wake up anymore. Ever since you left and Andy took over, things have gone to shit."

Kurt frowned in surprise. This was the first he'd heard anything truly negative about Andy. "Really?"

"Look around you!" Eleanor gestured sweepingly to their surroundings. "This place is a fucking cemetery."

"But… Andy's been taking care of everything."

"If that's what you want to call it," Robbie grunted bitterly.

"He's the fucking prison warden," Eleanor chimed in.

Kurt mulled this over for a moment. Considering the condition of his apartment, his job, and, hell, the fact that he actually had a _life_ beyond treatment and therapy probably meant that whatever Robbie and Eleanor said about Andy should be taken with a grain of salt. They might have had a problem with him, but Robbie and Eleanor had problems with a lot of people.

"He's seemed okay to me," Kurt said with a half-shrug. "At least, from what I've seen."

"Yeah, well, you're a pushover." Eleanor abruptly frowned, glancing in confusion around the playground. "Do you smell smoke?"

"No," said Robbie, perhaps a little too quickly.

"So, where is everyone?" Kurt asked. He rubbed his hands together and blew into his palms to warm them up. He couldn't feel his fingertips anymore.

"What do you mean?" Robbie stopped his pacing momentarily. "This _is_ everyone."

Eleanor shivered, her shoulders trembling in the chill. "We all know what Truman did to Craig and Zack, and what you did to Truman. Tyler's decided to be Mr. Comatose over there, Schism's a fucking mummy, and Red scurried off to the woods to be weird and creepy all on his own." A strange sort of shadow passed quickly over Eleanor's face, her jaw twitching briefly. "We're all that's left."

"Well, us and the warden," Robbie grumbled.

Kurt clenched his teeth, trying to keep them from chattering. "Does Andy really keep you guys under lock and key that much?"

Eleanor glared at him. "Do you _see_ this?"

She gestured again to the playground – to the rusted-over carousel, the collapsed platform, the frozen ground, Tyler, Schism (or whatever was left of him), the sharp glinting icicles. Frost gripped every surface not already covered in snow or ice. One could easily imagine that the snow blanketing the ground was volcanic ash instead, burying the bodies of the playground's residents, and that these were the ruins of Pompeii.

Eleanor spoke through her teeth, her frozen fingers curling into furious fists and her voice cracking slightly. More than anything, she seemed heartbroken.

"_All _of this is Andy's fault."


	5. Sin Of Omission

..

_Sin Of Omission_

..

Kurt woke with a start, finding himself sprawled out on his stomach in bed with his cell phone ringing shrilly on the end table by his head. He jerked upright, pushing the blankets off his back as he fumbled for the phone, which ceased buzzing as soon as he picked it up. _Missed Call: Mitchell Seville_, read the little bubble on the touchscreen. Kurt sighed and deleted the notification. It was probably a work call – another unfamiliar boss at another unfamiliar newspaper – and he didn't want to deal with that so early in the morning.

Well… the phone's clock read 10:43. Not as early as he thought.

Kurt's heart skipped for a moment, reading the date beneath the time.

_Friday, January 8th_.

He had missed another handful of days. More time gone, more memories unaccounted for. He dropped his head back to the pillow in disappointment, his throat clenching with a disgusting sense of failure. He tried to rationalize, reminding himself that the newest gap in his memory could have been much, _much_ larger than a few days, but it only made him feel heavy and miserable.

It was too hot in here; he'd been sweating all night and he grimaced when he realized the t-shirt he'd been sleeping in was damp. Shoving the weighted blankets away from his legs, he forced himself to get up and stumble into the bathroom for a cold shower. He stood motionless under the spray of frigid water until he started shivering, finally turning it up to a comfortable temperature and scrubbing the grime from his unfamiliar skin.

Eventually, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel, pointedly leaving the mirror fogged up so he wouldn't have to see his incongruous reflection. Tossing on a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a fresh shirt, Kurt re-checked his phone to find a follow-up text from Mitchell Seville. He couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed. Was it too much to ask that people just give him some time on his own?

_You free this weekend?_ read the text.

Kurt tossed the phone onto the bed, resigning to answer it later, if he did at all. "If I am free, it's not for you," he muttered, shutting the bedroom door behind him as he made a beeline for the kitchen. Even if he couldn't control when he'd wake up or black out, he could at least make himself a meal and do something somewhat productive and healthy.

He knew he'd have to call his father sooner or later – it was unfair to leave Burt thinking that Andy was still at the wheel – but frankly, Kurt just wanted some time _alone_. He glanced at the clock on the wall by the fridge, now reading 11:30 on the dot. One hour, he made himself promise. He'd give himself just one hour, and then he'd call his family.

He prepared an egg-white omelet and sat at the dining room table, staring across his apartment in a sort of daze. Everything still felt too distant and disconnected, as though even Kurt's own arms and legs didn't belong to him anymore, let alone an _apartment_ or any of the things in it. Someone else had decided on the furniture, and arranged the pictures on the walls, and paid for the food he was now eating. Someone else had done all of this while he wasn't paying attention.

He should have been paying attention.

At the other end of the dining table, where Andy had apparently set up his usual workspace, the mess of drafts and magazines had been tidied up and neatly stacked by the laptop. The laptop itself had been left closed, and for the first time since sitting down Kurt noticed that there was a post-it note stuck to its surface. He reached over and peeled it off, expecting to find a reminder that Andy had written to himself of a new deadline or something.

Instead, it was a note.

_Kurt – All deadlines for the week have been met, and I managed to talk Mike into giving me the upcoming week off. If he calls, you're in Florida with your dying Grandpa Murray. You're welcome._

Kurt stared at the post-it for a good sixty seconds, not quite believing what he was seeing. As strangely helpful as some of the alters had been on occasion, he had never once experienced any of them relinquishing control without protest.

Maybe it would be easier to live with Andy than he'd previously thought.

* * *

><p>For Burt, this past week had not been the best one he'd ever had. It had started off with so much <em>joy<em>, and then before Burt knew it, Kurt was gone again and some stranger was back in his place. Dr. Sun was right – there was no way of knowing when Kurt would come back, or even if he would at all. But somehow, knowing that Kurt hadn't been entirely erased and still just wasn't _there_ made it even worse.

On the one hand, Burt couldn't find words to express how utterly grateful he was that Kurt was still present, however fleeting that might be. On the other hand, none of this was the life he'd wanted for his son. Disappearing into himself without warning or explanation was no way to live, and Burt wanted to scream at God or whoever the _hell_ decided that his family was deserving of this. It had all been easier when they thought Kurt was gone for good.

When Andy had first appeared, Finn was off in college and Kurt had been working full-time in the tire shop, and the transition had been so _fast_. Andy had materialized without fuss or fanfare, unlike the rest of the alters, who had all seemed to announce their existence with a dramatic bang. Andy was just, suddenly, there. And less than two months later, Kurt was gone without so much as a whisper.

Until this week.

Burt hated knowing there was nothing he could really do to push Andy out of the way, to jar Kurt into coming back. So he did what he was good at instead – he threw himself headfirst into his work. All week he'd been pulling extra-long shifts at the tire shop, doing mostly paperwork (like a good boss should), but whenever there was a lull in inventory and bill-paying he would go out to the floor and get elbows-deep in the engines with the rest of his employees.

So far, the shop had served as an adequate distraction, but today was Friday, and Burt had Saturdays off. Tomorrow, he would be home all day, and he hated himself for not looking forward to it. He was a grandfather now, and he should've been excited about spending a day at home with his wife, his kids, his daughter-in-law, and his grandson. But all he could think about was how much it hurt whenever he looked at Kurt and saw someone else.

Lunch break rolled around, and Burt cleaned the oil stains from his fingers and retired to the break room in back to eat the turkey sandwich Carole had packed for him. He flipped idly through a NASCAR magazine one of the guys had left on the break room table, his meal tasting like chalk as he forced himself to chew and swallow. It was too quiet in here, and tried to eat faster so he could get back out to the garage, where the noise of metal grinding and welding sparks flying would drown out his thoughts and let him relax.

The break room door opened and Ray, one of his senior mechanics, leaned in. "Hey, Burt," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the garage. "Hummel Junior's here for you."

Burt frowned, a chill settling into the pit of his stomach. "I didn't ask him to come by," he said, more to himself than to Ray. "Is he having car trouble?"

Ray shook his head. "No, he just asked to see you."

Burt sighed, crumpling up the paper bag from his sandwich. "Okay, just tell him to head to my office; I'll be there in a sec."

Ray nodded once and turned to leave, but stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. "Everything okay, Burt?" he asked.

Burt's mouth tightened. Ray was the only person working in the shop who had any idea that Kurt wasn't in peak health, only because he'd been working for Burt for the last twenty years. As far as Burt knew, Ray wasn't aware of what Kurt's situation was exactly, but Kurt had worked alongside Ray for almost five years after high school, and Ray wasn't an idiot. He could tell that something wasn't quite right, but much to Ray's credit, he'd never pushed Burt for any explanations.

"Everything's fine, thanks," Burt lied.

Ray didn't press any further, disappearing back into the garage.

Burt drew a deep breath into his lungs, steeling his nerves as he stood up. He tossed out his lunch trash and headed through the door, knowing he couldn't avoid Andy and it was stupid to try. But at least he could lay down some ground rules.

In the office, Kurt was standing waiting for him, his hands hanging in the pockets of his winter overcoat. "Hi—" he started, but Burt held up a hand.

"Okay, Andy, we need to talk," he said, letting the office door fall shut behind him. "You can't just show up here unannounced; you need to call first."

Kurt's jaw clacked shut, and he stared at Burt in stunned silence.

Burt sighed. He felt bad, but it felt like distancing himself from Andy was the only thing he could do to keep sane. At least, for the time being. "Look, I'm not – I'm not blaming you for anything," he attempted to explain, "and I'm… I'm trying to deal with you being here. I just need a little bit of time, okay? That's all I'm asking."

A small breath huffed out of Kurt's lungs. "I – I, um…" he stammered.

Burt's stomach twisted. Something was off.

"It's me, Dad," Kurt said.

Burt's heart skipped. "Are you messing with me?"

Kurt eyes widened, a shadow flitting over his face. "N-no, it's me, I promise," he insisted. "I promise."

Relief tinged with dismay bloomed somewhere inside Burt's hollow chest, and for a brief moment it occurred to him that he might be having another heart attack.

"You're really here?" he said, searching Kurt's face for some concrete sign that it was really his son he was speaking to. But it had just been so _long_ and Burt was so used to seeing Andy and it made him want to break down crying.

Kurt nodded, his eyes glassy. "It's me," he repeated.

The breath rushed from Burt's chest, and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Kurt as solidly as he could. "I was so scared you disappeared again," he said, the words hitching in his throat.

"I was too," Kurt admitted, his whole frame shaking almost imperceptibly. His voice sounded so _small_.

Burt finally drew back, gripping Kurt by the shoulders. "We're going to do whatever we can to keep you around, okay? No more disappearing."

Kurt swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Dad," he choked out.

Burt shook his head. "No apologies," he ordered. "Just promise me that you won't disappear."

Kurt swiped at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand, nodding. "I can try."

"Good." Burt squeezed Kurt's shoulders, as though the gesture would somehow make it easier for Kurt to stay put. "Then I'll try with you."

* * *

><p>Eleanor sat by herself on the swing set, kicking idly at the snow-covered gravel with the toe of her shoe. The metal chains were so cold they bit into her palms, but at this point Eleanor couldn't quite bring herself to care. She'd been cold for too long already; she barely noticed it anymore.<p>

The playground had gradually become more and more lonely as time dragged on, and solitude was something she adjusted to along with the chill. Red and Schism had never been social (or even capable of human interaction) to begin with, so she didn't miss them, and Truman had been disgusting and terrifying – all she could say about him was good riddance. But she did miss Zack. She could admit that. Hell, sometimes she even missed Craig. And as for Tyler, she was starting to truly worry that he would never wake up again. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen him move.

Robbie, however, really wasn't much company at all. Eleanor had never gotten along with him, and he'd never liked her anyway, so now they tended to stick to opposite ends of the playground the majority of the time, both wasting away in their respective boredoms.

The whole situation fucking _sucked_.

But as it was, with Andy blocking their every move (well, Eleanor's every move, since Robbie refused to get involved), there was nothing Eleanor could do about it. So she sat on the swing and shivered and waited for things to change.

She was so used to the complete and utter silence that it took her an embarrassingly long time to notice that for the first time in a _long_ while, Andy had appeared in the playground. When she spotted him, he was standing several yards past the carousel, arms crossed and calmly watching the sky.

Eleanor lurched to her feet, the ice and gravel crunching underneath her shoes as she made a beeline for Robbie, who was sitting on the bench closest to the slide.

"Andy's here," she said in lieu of a greeting, sliding onto the bench next to him.

Robbie only gave her a mildly irritated glance, annoyed that she was in his personal space. "I noticed."

"So let's _do_ something," she urged.

Robbie's eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. "…Like what?"

"I don't know," Eleanor hissed, growing frustrated. "Trap him in the jungle gym with Schism. Put him in the woods. Punch him in the nuts. That's just off the top of my head."

"What good would that do?" was Robbie's dry response.

Eleanor had to restrain herself from punching Robbie in the nuts instead. Why did he have to be so fucking unhelpful?

"Getting Andy out of the way is the single best thing we can do for ourselves," she insisted, her jaw clenching.

Robbie crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "For us or for Kurt?"

"For _all_ of us. If Andy's gone, everything goes back to normal. Maybe Tyler would wake back up."

"This _is_ normal now."

Eleanor's lip curled in disgust, and she sat back. "Well, roll over and be a little bitch, why don't you?"

"I'm not a bitch," Robbie said, but judging by his tone he didn't seem all that interested in arguing with her.

"You're Andy's bitch," Eleanor countered. She rolled her eyes; she should have known she wouldn't get any help from Robbie. He was fucking useless. "Stay here," she snapped.

"Where are you going?"

Eleanor was already walking in Andy's direction. "Where do you think?"

"Why do you always have to cause problems?" Robbie called after her.

"Because you never do."

Eleanor could hear Robbie huff in annoyance as she walked away, but if he wasn't going to do anything then he didn't have a right to be pissed off. Fuck him.

"Hey, asshole!" Eleanor spat, approaching Andy from behind.

He turned around at that, his arms crossed, and frowned at her. "…Excuse me?" He spoke like a disapproving mother hen, and Eleanor wanted to rip the condescending tone right out of his throat with her fingernails.

She strode up to him and without any hesitation, punched him swiftly in the nose.

His head whipped to the side and he staggered back, catching himself on his heel as he clutched his nose. "What the _hell _was that for?!" he demanded, straightening back up to glare at her. He rubbed his nose with a wince, and Eleanor was almost too angry to notice that his breath wasn't fogging in front of his face.

"I think you know," she sneered. "You _ruined _our lives!"

Andy let out a heavy puff of air, gritting his teeth. "Eleanor, what exactly do you think I've been _doing_ this entire time?" he asked, throwing his hands out to his sides in exasperation.

"Don't know, don't particularly care."

"Then _what_ is your issue with me?"

Eleanor regarded him with a look of utter astonishment, her fingers shaking with rage. "You let everything go to shit and you have the _balls_ to ask me that?"

Andy's lip curled, his eyes flaring slightly. "Boy, have you got your wired crossed," he said lowly.

At that, Eleanor's arm snapped up to punch him a second time.

Before her fist could make contact with his cheek, however, his hand snaked around her wrist, blocking the attack and squeezing hard enough to force Eleanor to uncurl her fingers.

"Step away," he snarled, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Eleanor didn't move, holding her ground and meeting Andy's eye with as fierce a glare as she could muster. She clenched her teeth.

His hand tightened, making her bones ache and shooting slivers of pain up through her arm. "_Step. Away,_" he repeated.

Eleanor swallowed, trying to maintain some sort of stoic veneer. But Andy's hand was crushing her wrist, and it felt like any moment it was going to break. "Y-You're hurting me," she forced out.

"Am I?" Andy asked, his grip tightening even further.

Eleanor couldn't take it anymore. She retreated, quickly pulling her arm protectively to her chest as soon as Andy released it. She rubbed her tender wrist, which now sported deep purple bruises in the clear shape of Andy's fingers and palm. She glowered at him from where she stood, not quite ready to give up the fight.

Andy jabbed a finger in her direction, drawing himself up to his full height before speaking through his teeth.

"Don't ever hit me again."


End file.
